ng crowd without. A halberdier paced the
open gallery at the head of the Giant's Stairs, and, here and there, the
footfall of other sentinels might be heard among the hollow and
ponderous arches of the long corridors. No light was shed from the
windows; but the entire building presented a fit emblem of that
mysterious power which was known to preside over the fortunes of Venice
and her citizens. Ere Gino trusted himself without the shadow of the
passage by which he had entered, two or three curious faces had appeared
at the opposite entrance of the court, where they paused a moment to
gaze at the melancholy and imposing air of the dreaded palace, before
they vanished in the throng which trifled in the immediate proximity of
that secret and ruthless tribunal, as man riots in security even on the
verge of an endless and unforeseen future.

Disappointed in his expectation of meeting him he sought, on the
instant, the gondolier advanced, and taking courage by the possibility
of his escaping altogether from the interview, he ventured to furnish
audible evidence of his presence by a loud hem. At that instant a figure
glided into the court from the side of the quay, and walked swiftly
towards its centre. The heart of Gino beat violently, but he mustered
resolution to meet the stranger. As they drew near each other, it became
evident, by the light of the moon, which penetrated even to that gloomy
spot, that the latter was also masked.

"San Teodoro and San Marco have you in mind!" commenced the gondolier.
"If I mistake not, you are the man I am sent to meet."

The stranger started, and first manifesting an intention to pass on
quickly, he suddenly arrested the movement to reply.

"This may be so or not. Unmask, that I may judge by thy countenance if
what thou sayest be true."

"By your good leave, most worthy and honorable Signore, and if it be
equally agreeable to you and my master, I would choose to keep off the
evening air by this bit of pasteboard and silk."

"Here are none to betray thee, wert thou naked as at thy birth. Unless
certain of thy character, in what manner may I confide in thy honesty?"

"I have no distrust of the virtues of an undisguised face, Signore, and
therefore do I invite you, yourself, to exhibit what nature has done for
you in the way of features, that I, who am to make the confidence, be
sure it be to the right person."

"This is well, and gives assurance of thy prudence. I may not unmask,
h